


So it stays

by K_2304 (TheKezta)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKezta/pseuds/K_2304
Summary: There’s not enough room for me here.So it stays.It all stays.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	So it stays

There’s not enough room for me here.

It’s cluttered and noisy. The space is so full. And some of this crap is just entirely useless. Some of it makes absolutely no sense and there’s no reason for it to even stay. It doesn’t even serve a purpose. It’s taking up room and pushing me to the outskirts but I don’t really know what to do with it. It doesn’t need to be here, and yet there’s nowhere else for it. So it stays.

Some of it I place on a pedestal. Some of it is so suffocatingly important that I choke on it. And so much space is filled with these important things and I can’t bring myself to remove them. I know it would be better. I know it would lift the weight from my chest. It would open my airways and I’d finally be able to breathe again. There would finally be space for me amongst the chaos. And I keep telling myself that. But I’ve lost myself in the importance of it. I’ve told myself it’s important for so long that it is. Who am I without it? It takes up so much room and pins me to the wall and there’s no space but I can’t just get rid of it. It’s become part of who I am. I told myself that it mattered for so long that it started to matter more than I did. I’ve elevated it above myself and I live it’s shadow. Removing it would give me room but I just can’t bear to lose it. So it stays.

When I look at some of it, I’m filled with a deep sinking dread. Some of it’s a reminder of everything I’ve done wrong, everything I continue to do wrong. Some of it makes me feel violently ill. It’s repulsive. It reflects the worst parts about who I am. It stares me in the eye and it laughs. 

"You will never be good enough. You were never enough to begin with. The fact you spent so long trying to be good enough proves just how unworthy of goodness you are."

“You have lost everything that made you worthy."

Listening to it’s words makes me sick. It makes me feel sick because they’re true. I look at them and am reminded that I can never change anything. I will be here forever, until I’m not anymore. I can move the stuff around. I can stack them on top of eachother, I can hide the things I don’t want to see behind other things and pretend they’re not there. But they’re still there. And there’s still no room for me. I can rearrange it however I want, I can mince my words and I can swallow my sentiments and I can hide the stuff under other stuff, but it’s all still there. I can’t make it good. I can’t change it. I can’t remove it. Because removing it means acting, and I can’t act because I won’t be able to do enough. I’ll believe I’ve made a change but the stuff will still be there. Taunting me. So I leave it there and try to ignore it. So it stays.

Some of it makes me smile. Sometimes some of it almost feels enough to lift the weight from my chest all on its own. Some of it is almost enough to convince me that I’m whole. Sometimes for a brief moment it does, and I bask in the space it feels like I’ve made. And I bask in the freedom. And I bask in the laugh that comes from my heart instead of my mind. And I bask in the room I have to move and breathe. I bask in the lack of stuff. I bask in myself. And for a brief, beautiful moment? I’m almost enough. So it stays.

Some of it is a deep, black onyx. A black so deep and so dark it’s like I’m staring into a void. And this feeling just emanates from it. And I can’t quite explain the feeling the void gives you. It feels like void. It feels… empty. It feels numb. I stare at the void and the void stares back and we stare at each other, and we’re engulfed in each other's emptiness. We’re reflections of each other. We’re one and the same. And in a strange way, in the cluttered mess and chaos of all the other stuff? The void is almost cathartic. It’s empty and chilling and lonely, and sometimes it still feels suffocating. But honestly? At least it feels like there’s room there. It’s so empty that it’s somewhere I can fill. I fill the empty with my emptiness. I fill the void with my void. And it fills with mine. And there’s finally room here in a twisted, masochistic way. Sometimes the numbness is better than the weight of the stuff. So it stays.

Some of this stuff is actually important. But it’s basically indiscernible from the stuff that doesn’t matter, and the stuff that I’ve made myself think is important. And the stuff that makes me sick. And the stuff that makes me smile. And the stuff that’s completely empty. The truth is I know that that’s what all this stuff is but I can’t really pick it apart anymore. Because I know that some of this stuff really matters, but I can’t really tell what; it all has to stay. Because otherwise I might get rid of the important stuff. And I can’t lose that stuff, even if I _can’t_ pick it out anymore, because I think somewhere buried in all the piles. Somewhere in that important stuff that I can’t separate from the rest. Somewhere in the pile of important but forgotten relics. That somewhere is where _I_ really am. I’m trapped with all the different stuff, but what if while trying to make room for myself I lose myself along the way? What if I throw the wrong things out and I lose everything that really matters? What if I finally get rid of the stuff and there’s just nothing left?

And I just lay frozen in fear. Because there’s just so much stuff here. And it’s so very full. And it’s bursting at the seams with all the stuff. But some of the stuff can’t go. I’m part of the stuff. So it stays. It all stays.

There’s not enough room for me here.

Maybe there never was.

Maybe there never will be.


End file.
